


The Man with the Dragon Beanie

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Arthur is a bit of a jerk, F/M, M/M, Reincarnation, Temporary Character Death, but so is Merlin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 03:49:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4591830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is a washed-up, drunken superhero who causes massive amounts of damage and in almost universally disliked. However, a kindly publicity worker named Morgana takes pity on him, and decides to help Arthur reinvent himself.<br/>**on hiatus until April**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet Arthur

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, against my better judgement, I find myself beginning another WIP. This fic is based off the movie Hancock, which is probably one of my favorite non-Marvel/DC superhero movies. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from Merlin or Hancock, nor do I make money from this.

A white SUV careened down the highway, the scent of burning rubber filling the air as police sirens wailed behind it. With an exhilarated whoop, a young man leaned out the passenger window and fired haphazardly at his pursuers, not flinching as the vehicle crashed into a passing car. The police radios crackled wildly as they called for backup, dodging in between other drivers in a bull-running of steel.

 

Not far away, a young man lay snoring on a bench. He was dressed in ratty jeans, a tshirt, and a bomber jacket. Over his eyes was pulled a bright red beanie with a golden dragon embroidered on it, the sole clean piece of clothing he wore. The man might have once been called attractive, and still was, but that was where all niceties ended. He was unshaven and smelly - in fact, there were bums that looked more pulled-together than he did. The bench he slept on was surrounded by alcohol bottles of various contents and brands, all empty. As he slept, a young boy came over and poked him in the arm, then more boldly, shook him.

 

“Arthur!” He cried, as the young man in question snorted and nestled himself deeper into his jacket. He flipped up his beanie, squinting at the boy in the sunlight.

 

“What?” he grumbled, clearly irritated at being disturbed.

 

“Bad guys,” the boy replied, gesturing at a nearby TV store. On screen was a news report of the car chase, a helicopter following the SUV. Arthur glared at the TV, then the boy.

 

“What, did you want a medal or something? Get the hell out of my face,” he groused, evidently hungover. Seemingly unfazed, the boy turned away.

 

“Prat,” he called back. Arthur sat up, brow furrowed.

 

“ _What?_ ” He asked incredulously.

 

“You heard me.”

 

Arthur righted himself, still squinting in the sunlight. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he fumbled around until he found a pair of aviator sunglasses, slipping them on under his beanie. Noticing a well-built man walking passed, he reached out and made a lecherous grab at his gym bag, earning a glare in the process. He reached under the bench, finding an unopened bottle. Cracking its seal, and then his neck, Arthur stood up. Abruptly, he soared into the sky, pulverizing the bench in the process.

 

As Arthur flew through downtown Camelot, he took a swig from his bottle, narrowly missing an airplane. Errant strands of blond hair whipped across his face, and he reached back to bat them away. Spitting feathers as he dove through a flock of seagulls, Arthur located the scene of the chase. Blasting through a road sign, he flew down to the car, heedless of the wreckage he left behind. In his wake, police cars were spinning to a halt, many damaged by the sign’s debris. Exasperated, Arthur grabbed the SUV’s roof and ripped part of it off, seating himself in the back seat. Immediately, two of its occupants pointed their guns at him, screaming in a language Arthur didn’t understand. He waved his hands for them to be quiet, wincing at the noise. Above, a helicopter whirred, tracking both the SUV and Arthur.

 

“Alright, alright,” Arthur said, gesturing with the bottle. “I don’t care what you did. You know, I don’t judge, three men with rave music blasting out the radio. I don’t care at all. But if you don’t pull over and surrender quietly,” he said with a grimace, “I swear to the _gods_ your head is going up his arse.” He pointed to one man, then the other. “And his head is going up the driver’s arse, and the driver’s head is going up your arse.” The three men looked at him, then each other, and promptly started shooting. Arthur merely looked annoyed as the bullets bounced off him. As he raised his hands, bullets shattered his bottle and left neat holes in his sunglasses. They slipped down his face, revealing a truly exasperated glare. Eventually, the criminals ran out of bullets, gaping at the young man sitting unscathed before them. He raised his fist, still clutching the neck of the bottle, and shook his head, pointing at the broken prize.

 

With a smug grin, he stomped down as hard as he could, pushing his legs through the car floor and into the pavement. Within a few yards, the car halted, smacking the three men into the windshield. Emerging from the car, Arthur single-handedly lifted it into the air and flew off, idly tossing it around.

“Put us down!” Shrieked the driver, finding his voice. “Put us down!”

“Oh, now you speak English, do you?” Mocked Arthur, sliding the car along the side of a nearby  building. In the middle of his tirade, the helicopter approached, blinding him with a searchlight. Instinctively raising his hands, Arthur dropped the car, sending it plummeting below. Ducking, he grabbed it once more, stopping it from crashing to the ground.

“You broke my glasses!” Arthur said indignantly.

“I’m sorry! Take my Ray-Bans!” Cried one of the men, as the car hood bumped off a ledge. “Put us down!”

  
“Oh, you want down?” Asked Arthur, raising his eyebrows. “I’m very good at that!” Despite the shrieks emanating from his newfound toy, he flung it into the air, then jumped on the hood and sped away. Instead of plummeting to the ground, the front of the car was impaled on a broadcasting tower, the spike piercing the hood. Completely unconcerned with the damage he had caused, Arthur flew away in search of a new pair of sunglasses, leaving the sirens to blare in the distance.


	2. Meet Morgana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur gets lucky, and Morgana Pendragon-Emrys gets stuck.

Arthur sat in a dark corner of a pub, sullenly nursing his drink. Across from him, an old television set was replaying the day’s news.

 

“...this, the latest of Arthur’s antics, has led to several costly damages, initial estimates upwards of nine million pounds,” the reporter said, standing in front of a ruined building.

 

“If accurate, this represents a personal record for the notorious superhero known only as Arthur.” He smirked slightly, rubbing his fingers over his lips. “As usual, the publicity-shy Arthur could not be reached for comment.” An old woman glowered at him from across the bar. Unperturbed, Arthur returned the glare.

 

The broadcast cut to the Chief of Police, Uther Regent, being interviewed. “I, for one, could not be happier if Arthur simply picked up and left!” He growled, stabbing his finger for emphasis.

 

Ignoring the policeman’s tirade, Arthur twiddled a pen in his hands, and began sketching. It was only a crude drawing, and the pen tore through the thin paper, but he persisted. It showed two people walking side by side down a road, destination unclear.

 

As Arthur continued to doodle, two young men entered the bar, both joking and shoving each other affectionately. At the sight of Arthur, they stopped dead, expressions of surprise on their faces. After a quick argument, the shorter one cautiously approached Arthur.

 

Arthur looked him up and down disinterestedly. The man wasn’t bad-looking, he supposed, with dark brown hair and a scruffy beard. However, the dumbstruck expression on his face did not bode well at all.

 

“I found you,” the man said in awe. “I went to all the places I thought you’d be, and finally, here you are.” Arthur stood up, ignoring the man as he grabbed a bottle from the side of the bar.

 

“What’s it feel like to fly?” He asked, biting his lip.

 

“No,” replied Arthur, still completely uninterested.

 

“No what?”

 

“No, I won’t fly you,” Arthur clarified, taking a swig of his bottle.

 

“I have a sister,” said the young man in a spurt of energy. “She’s the dearest thing in the world to me, and I swear, she wouldn’t be here today if not for you.” He leaned in, placing a hand on Arthur’s table.

 

“She crashed her car, and you flew her to the hospital,” he continued. “Do you remember?” The old lady continued to glare at Arthur.

 

“I will break this over your head, woman,” he growled, gesturing with his bottle. Still scowling, the old woman turned back to her pint. The young man leaned in closer to Arthur, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Do you have a car?” Asked Arthur, idly chewing a fistful of crisps. The other man nodded, eyes wide. “Then let’s go.”

 

-M-

 

Arthur stretched as he got out of the car, bottle still in hand. They had been driving for nearly half an hour, and his neck was stiff. In the isolated fields stood three trailers, a dragon weathervane perched on its roof. Arthur unlocked the door, allowing the other man inside.

 

The trailer was cluttered with food and empty bottles, but still held an air of coziness.

 

“So this is where you live,” Arthur’s new friend said, looking around. Arthur grunted in response. “It’s your hideout, your Batcave - your Fortress of Solitude!” Pouring his bottle into a plastic cup, Arthur barely even looked up.

 

“It’s three trailers I stuck together,” he replied, eyebrow raised.

 

“What’s all this?” The young man asked, gesturing to brown packets on the table.

 

“Popcorn,” Arthur said with a shrug.

 

“What do you do with it?” said the young man, with a sly smile.

 

“Pop it.”

 

“Want me to give you something else to pop?” the other man purred, pushing Arthur onto a chair. Arthur protested a bit, but sat down with a thump as his companion straddled him. “Pop this, Superman.”

 

“Ok, ok but there are rules-” Arthur began, only to be cut off by the jingle of a cell phone. The other man dug it out of his pocket, pressing the button to accept the call.

 

“Hello? Yeah, listen Perce, I’m gonna have to call you back,” said the young man, wiggling his eyebrows at Arthur. “Yeah - no - bye.” He stowed his phone back in his pocket. “Now, where were we?”

 

“Now, look, before we begin, I need to warn you,” Arthur said, hands in the air. “Things may get a little...rough.”  


“Oh don’t worry,” purred the other man, practically ripping Arthur’s shirt off. “I like it rough.”

 

-M-

 

Morgana Pendragon-Emrys wiped her hands on her skirt nervously. Now or never, she told herself. Today was her big chance to impress Mr. Odin, as well as anybody else who paid attention. Taking a deep breath, she strode into the conference room, all smiles and handshakes.

 

“This is Morgana,” Mr. Bayard said, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “She’s like the Bono of PR.”

 

“Actually, I think Bono is the Bono of PR,” she replied with a forced smile. She didn’t even like U2, accent be damned. “But I do try.”

 

“Well, let’s see it,” Mr. Odin said, gesturing for her to take the lead. As various corporate leaders took their seats, she strode to the front of the room.

 

“I’ll get straight to it then,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Hello everyone, and good morning.” She got a few nods and smiles in return, strengthening her resolve. “I’m, ah, here to talk to you about charitable giving.” Mr. Bayard nodded encouragingly.

 

“We all know how this works,” Morgana continued, stepping towards a projection screen. “YOu give one or two percent of your net cash, and you get a wristband or a ribbon, and that’s nowhere near enough.” With a click of the button, the screen dissolved into an image of three spirals, joined together in the middle.

 

“That’s why we at Avalon Publicity give you the Triskelion,” she said triumphantly, standing to the side. “Now, you would be among a very select group of corporate giants to bear this logo on your product. And what it signifies is that you’ve made a radical contribution to charity.” To her horror, Mr. Odin looked unimpressed.

 

“Here’s what you need to qualify,” Morgana said, swallowing hard. “Your tuberculosis drug? We want you to give that away - for free.” Mutters ran through the gathering assembled before her.

 

“Did you say free?” Mr. Odin asked, leaning forward.

 

“I did,” replied Morgana, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. “Only to those who are in serious need of it. Only to those who would otherwise die.” A note of desperation crept into her tone.

 

“As a concept, “free” is about as pleasant-sounding as ‘lethal side effects’,” complained one man.

 

“Mandatory product recall, get indicted, go to jail, spend the rest of your career waitressing,” another man droned, leaning back in his chair.

 

“Understandable reactions,” placated Morgana, gesturing in a calming manner. “It’s a very new concept. But, it’s the brand that represents a fair and better world - the brand that everybody is talking about.”

 

“Who is everyone?” Mr Bayard asked, eyebrow raised.

 

“We already have sports franchises,” Morgana replied, plastering a smile on her face.

 

“Rugby? Golf?”

 

“Football,” she said. “It’s a local team, the Camelot Knights.” Morgana chuckled. “It’s my son’s team.”

 

The temperature of the room seemed to lower twenty degrees. She could practically feel the daggers being shot her way.

 

“Anyway, with this, we can save the world,” said Morgana, gesturing to the figure on screen. “Somebody just has to go first. What do you say?”

 

Shakes of the head and subdued murmurs ran across the room.

 

“Are you mad?” Asked Mr. Odin after a long pause. Morgana’s grin faltered just the slightest.

 

-M-

 

The commute home was fraught with silence as Morgana sat in traffic. Pulling out her phone, she dialled her husband’s number. After a few rings, it went to voicemail.

 

“Hiya, hun, you’re probably at the store,” she said, leaning out the window to watch traffic. “I think I may have made a connection!” She took a sip of her tea. “Not really. Anyway, could you be a dear and tell Mordred that I - dammit!” Her tea fell down the passenger’s side, liquid spattering on the floor. “I’m coming in about twenty minutes, and I could really use some curry tonight. Thanks love, bye!” Distracted as she was by the fallen tea, Morgana didn’t see the rapidly approaching train. Other cars began to honk at her, noticing that she was stopped on the rails.

 

“What, is it national Horn Day or something?” She groused, putting her phone away. The red and white striped barriers lowered, framing her car. As she turned back to the road, she noticed for the first time the train barreling down the tracks.

 

Morgana rapidly honked on her horn. “Hey. Hey! Let me through!” she cried, but it was too late. Throwing her car into gear, she backed up, only to become bumper to bumper with the commuter behind her.

 

“Let me out!” She shouted.

 

“I can’t, I can’t go back!” The other driver called back. “Just get out!”

 

“Son of a bitch!” Morgana swore, fumbling with the car door. However, the latch came off in her hand. Cursing her refusal to upgrade to a newer model, she rolled down the window and reached around to open the door. However, as she practically dove out, her legs became entangled in the seat belt. Preparing for the worst, she covered her head protectively.

 

A rap on the hood startled her. Before Morgana’s car stood Arthur, giving her a “what the hell?” expression. He nonchalantly flipped the car so that it stood vertical, still on the tracks. The train honked, its conductor gesturing desperately. However, Arthur stood still, slamming his shoulder into the train. It stopped in a dead halt, the front crumpling around Arthur.

 

Morgana shrieked as the car lost its balance and toppled onto its back, landing on top of two other cars. Upside down, she was face to face with another driver.

 

“Are you alright?” She asked, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. The other driver nodded mutely, eyes wide.

 

As Arthur extricated himself from the train, commuters began to emerge from their cars to observe the chaos. He idly strolled off the tracks as the train cars began to collide and pile up, spilling off their path and onto the road. Removing his new sunglasses, he squinted at the pile of steel.

 

“Ah, shit,” he breathed.

 

Morgana managed to crawl out of the car, hair in disarray.

 

“I’m alright,” she said, waving away a concerned driver’s hand.

 

Positioning himself in the middle of a rapidly forming crowd, Arthur waved his hands.

 

“Everybody blocking the intersection - you’re all..dollopheads,” he said.

 

“You’re the one who threw the lady’s car,” a man pointed out. “And look at the train!”

 

“Why didn’t you just go straight up into the air?” Asked a woman. “You’ve obviously injured that poor woman!”

 

The crowd voiced its assent, “lawsuit” being tossed around a few times.

 

“Alright then, you should sue your parents for making you that stupid!” Arthur retorted. The crowd only grew angrier.

 

“I can smell liquor on your breath!” cried another woman.

 

“I’ve been drinking, you imbecile!” replied Arthur, arms wide. “What did you expect?” He waved his hands in a “bring it” gesture as the gathered people began to close in, yelling all the while.

 

Suddenly, a wolf whistle broke through the hubbub.

 

“Everybody can it!” Cried Morgana, striding to the center. “Don’t you people understand? I’m alive, I get to go home and see my family! I should be dead right now, right here!” She gestured to Arthur. “Sure, he could’ve gone straight up, and I was upside down, but..” she put her hands on her hips. “Thank you. Thank you very much, Arthur,” she said loudly, shaking the bemused superhero’s hand.

 

At the supposed victim’s reassurance, the crowd began to disperse, a few members still muttering. Arthur looked askance at his newfound friend as she blew her lips out.

  
“Do you mind flying by King Street?” She asked sheepishly.


	3. Meet Merlin and Mordred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana invites Arthur to meet her family and share dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure when I'll be able to post again, but I'll do my best to keep things semi-regular.

King Street was a quiet suburb on the outskirts of Camelot, populated mostly by younger families. It was all very neat, very tidy, and very bland. While the houses were not completely identical, they had the carbon-copy air of a movie set. You nearly expected a father to return shouting, “Honey, I’m home!” while the scent of apple pie wafted through the air.

 

On the doorstop of one of these houses, a little boy sat playing with some toy knights, thoroughly absorbed in his game. He had a head of black curls and was by all accounts adorable. A dog sat beside him, happy even as the knights marched across his back. Once more, the very picture of domestic bliss.

 

Said picture completely shattered when Morgana’s car dropped from ten feet onto the asphalt in front of the little boy, cratering the pavement.

 

“Thank you!” Morgana called to the sky, where Arthur was hovering. He landed on the hood with a thud.

 

“The driveway would’ve been better, but...” She thought the better of complaining to a superhero who could stop a train dead in its tracks. 

 

“What’s going on, mum?” said the little boy, walking over to Morgana.

 

“Hello, sweetheart,” Morgana crooned, picking him up. “Mummy’s had a little bit of a day.” As she walked into the house, Arthur dragged the car up the driveway by the rear bumper, creating a horrible screeching noise. 

 

“I’d like you to meet somebody,” she said, turning to face Arthur. “The man pulling Mummy’s car, do you recognize him?”

 

“Arthur!” the little boy exclaimed, eyes shining in awe. He waved shyly at a bemused Arthur.

 

“That’s right,” Morgana said, “Arthur, this is my boy Mordred, he-” But before she could continue, she was interrupted by a new voice.    
  
“Oh my God, Morgana!” A man cried, jumping out of the house. “What happened to the car?” He was dressed very smartly in a blue shirt and burgundy tie, his black hair combed neatly. With his high cheekbones and strong chin, he was definitely one of the better-looking men that Arthur had seen. But there was something inexplicable about him that pulled the superhero closer, an immediate connection that he could tell the other man felt.

 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, love,” Morgana said, but Arthur ignored her. He stared at the other man, completely dumbstruck. Morgana’s husband gaped back, not even breaking eye contact as Morgana kissed him on the cheek.

 

“Arthur, this is my husband, Merlin,” Morgana said, jerking her head towards the other man. “Would you believe it, I almost got hit by a train, my whole life flashed before my eyes-” but Arthur and Merlin continued to ignore her chattering, only having eyes for each other.

 

“He saved your life?” Merlin asked, eyebrows raised.

 

“Yes he did,” Morgana replied. “Thank you again, Arthur.”

 

Arthur nodded. “You’re alright then?”

 

“Yes, I’m alright.”

 

“Well…” Arthur cleared his throat, half-turning away. “Keep off the tracks, then.” He began to walk away, casually sauntering off.

 

“Wait a minute!” Yelled Morgana, running a few steps after him. “Arthur, you, um, eat, yes? Human food?”

 

“Yeah,” Arthur replied suspiciously.

 

“Do you like curry?” Mordred piped up eagerly.

 

“No, Mordred, Arthur has to go do other hero things,” Merlin began, but Morgana interrupted him.

 

“No, love, it’s the least we can do,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

 

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. “I do love chicken tikka,” he confessed.

 

“Right, who’s so busy they can’t have a meal? This one’s on us,” Morgana said, her verdict final. “Please, come in.”

 

Merlin stared apprehensively at Arthur as he entered the house, looking back at the street with a worried glance. But after a moment, he entered, and Arthur sat down at the table delicately. Mordred sat beside him, staring with wide-eyed adoration. A few moments of silence passed, Arthur drumming his fingers on the plate before him. Morgana sat across from Arthur, eyeing the two of them.

 

“Why have you got a dragon on your hat?” Asked Mordred, leaning on his elbows. “Do you like dragons?”

 

“Wow, he’s quite the chatterbox,” Arthur observed with a grin.

 

“There’s not many kids here,” replied Morgana. Before she could continue, Merlin set a series of takeaway boxes on the table, the smell of cardamom and garam masala wafting upwards.

 

“Ah, just look at that. Is the heat on?” Morgana inhaled dreamily.

 

“No, it’s not,” Merlin said with a chuckle.

 

Arthur helped himself to a large portion of chicken tikka as Morgana continued to speak.

 

“We started Curry Night about two years ago, every Thursday, and we haven’t missed a Thursday in forever.”

 

“Forever, that’s a long time,” Arthur observed through a mouthful of naan.

 

“Yes it is, sir,” Mordred added, his chicken korma growing cold.

 

Arthur shoveled another load of curry into his mouth. “This is tasty, don’t you think, boy?” He inquired of his young admirer.

 

“Mordred.”

 

“Your father’s calling you,” said Arthur.

 

“No, his name is Mordred,” Merlin repeated, face suddenly stony.

 

“How was school?” Morgana asked, hoping to lighten the mood. “No more problems with that bully Victor?”

 

“Valiant,” corrected Mordred. “He says it’s Mercian.” Arthur brushed his fork off the table and made a show of picking it up. Morgana frowned when she saw him pouring whiskey into his glass.

 

“Arthur,” she said warningly, causing him to reappear. “Valiant is this neighborhood bully, and we’ve been trying to teach Mordred about conflict resolution.” From the tone of her voice, things didn’t seem to be going Mordred’s way.

 

“Mhm,” Arthur replied, taking a drink of his spiked beverage. “Yeah, turn the other cheek and all that. He tapped the bottom of Mordred’s seat. “Never turn that one,” he said matter-of-factly.  “Don’t let him give you a wedgie.”

 

“Mum-” Began Mordred, but Merlin cut him off with a look. “Eat your food, Mordred,” he said, mixing his rice with the remaining curry sauce.

 

“The way you deal with bullies, is you take your right foot and catch him right in the family jewels,” Arthur continued, seemingly oblivious to Merlin’s glare.

 

“You don’t have to do that, sweetheart,” Merlin interjected, looking pointedly at Morgana. “Seriously.”

 

“It’s a good idea.” Mordred shrugged as he tore off a piece of naan.

 

By now, even Morgana was beginning to look at Arthur disapprovingly. “You aim straight, and make sure he can’t use it for anything except as a pillow for his scrawny little butt,” the hero said.

 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Merlin said, dropping his fork with a clatter. “Just stop. Valiant’s not a man, he’s just a little boy.” Arthur had the wisdom to look abashed under his host’s tirade. “His parents happen to be going through a horrendous divorce, and that’s why he’s acting out. And you might not know this, but not everything in the world is solved through brute force.” Merlin began forcefully ladling curry onto Morgana’s plate, ignoring her protests.

 

“Not everything has to be bang, scream, blood, more blood, you know-”

 

“Darling!” Morgana raised her voice, causing Merlin to end his rant. “We’re alright,” she said through a mouthful of food. “He just watches so much news, that sometimes it’s a bit much for him.” Mordred looked between his parents questioningly, a furrow forming between his brows.

 

“Have you got a loo?” Arthur asked, desperate to leave the conversation.

 

Morgana pointed. “Just past the fridge.” Arthur stood up with a sigh, bringing his glass with him. Merlin watched him go, mouth hanging open slightly with disbelief.

 

“Did he just take a whiskey bottle to the bathroom with him?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

 

“Do you want him to kill us all?” Morgana sensibly pointed out.

 

-M-

 

The rest of the dinner passed in awkward silence, and eventually, Arthur stood up to leave. 

 

“Thank you once again, Arthur,” Morgana said, standing in the doorway with Mordred. “Say goodbye, Mordred.”

 

“Goodbye, Arthur,” Mordred chorused obediently, waving his hand. 

 

“Come here, lad,” Arthur said, stretching out his hand. When Mordred fist-bumped him, he pretended to clutch his arm and scream in agony.

 

“Are you alright?” Merlin asked, eyes wide as he shielded his son. 

 

“Yeah, it was just a joke,” Arthur offered lamely. Merlin shot him yet another killer look as he escorted Mordred upstairs.

 

“He got it,” Arthur called after them.

 

Morgana pulled him aside just as Arthur was about to take off. “Look, I owe you more than you can imagine, and I’d like to repay you,” she said earnestly. “Do you know what I do for a living? Public relations.”

 

“Yeah, I know what that is,” replied Arthur, shifting restlessly.

 

“You know, image relations, changing how people see things, products, people and all that.” She raised a finger for emphasis. “I see you on the news, I saw you today, and I can’t just sit there and watch people hate you.”

 

“It was, uh, good to meet you, Morgana,” Arthur said, turning away once more.

 

“No, I’m sorry, hear me out,” Morgana pleaded, following after him. “Don’t get me wrong, the people should love you, they really should.” She stood in front of Arthur, a restraining hand on his arm. “And I want to do that for you. It’s the least that I can do, you know? You’re a superhero, kids should be loving you.” As they talked, a small crowd began to gather nearby, pointing at Arthur.

 

“What are you clotpoles all looking at, huh?” He cried over Morgana’s shoulder.

 

“No, no, no,” she hastened to correct him. “It’s alright,” she called back, giving a wave.  “See, they’re not clotpoles, they’re just - they’re people. But I want you to give me one short pitch,” Morgana said, holding a business card out and tucking it into his jacket pocket. “That’s all I ask.” Arthur looked at her incredulously as she patted the pocket. “Just think about it, would you?”

 

“Alright,” Arthur replied, nodding grudgingly and walking off.

 

“Will you get back to me?” called Morgana, but she received no response. “Alright then. Oh, please don’t stare,” she cried at the still present crowd. “He’s just like us!”

  
Arthur once more completely destroyed suburbia as he took off, scattering chunks of asphalt across the road. The Emrys-Pendragon family dog ran after him, barking all the while. Morgana sighed again, running a hand through her hair. This would be tougher than she thought.


	4. A Change of Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur accepts Morgana's help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, it's been a while. My bad. Hopefully more stuff coming soon!

It was late in the evening, normality having returned to King Street. Mordred had already gone to bed, the excitement of meeting his idol having taken its toll. Merlin and Morgana were also getting ready to turn in for the night.

 

“What about Triskelion?” Merlin asked through a mouthful of toothpaste.

 

“I’m chasing windmills with that,” Morgana replied, carefully wriggling out of her tights. “If I can’t change the world, maybe I can change Arthur’s life. Think about all the good he can do.”

 

“I think you’re wasting your time,” Merlin said as he spat into the sink, returning to the master bedroom.

 

Morgana raised her eyebrows. “You really hate him.”

 

“I don’t hate him,” replied Merlin, pulling the covers back on his side of the bed. “I don’t even know him. Just look at the news, though. You can see what he does.”

 

“I think he just needs somebody to care,” Morgana said thoughtfully, getting up off the bed.

 

Merlin shook his head. “You always see the good in people, love, even when it’s not there.”

 

Unknown to  the couple, Arthur was seated on their roof, listening to every word drifting up.

 

“I have a feeling about him. Don’t work with him,” came Merlin’s voice. Arthur sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know this kind of man. He breaks things.” Arthur looked down at his hands. He knew that people didn’t like him, and normally, he didn’t like them either. But with Merlin, it was different. Hearing the words come from his lips, it stung Arthur in a way that he couldn’t remember feeling before. He carefully got up and flew away, barely disturbing a speck of dust on the roof.

 

-M-

 

The next morning, Arthur awoke nursing a hangover, as per usual. Keeping his beanie flipped over his sunglasses, he sat outside his trailer, a small wooden box in his hand. He rubbed his fingers over it tenderly, almost reverently, before opening it. Inside was a worn golden ring, the seal on its face rubbed off by years of touch. He rolled it around in his hand, placing the cool metal against his face with a sigh. Putting it away, he pulled out Morgana’s card, turning it over between his fingers. Resolutely, Arthur flipped up his beanie, a look of determination behind his eyes.

 

Once again, children of King Street were playing outside, shrieks of joy turning to screams of terror as Arthur landed on the asphalt, scattering chunks of it everywhere.

 

“Sorry,” he said half-heartedly as the children slowly backed away from him.

 

“Prat,” one of them called. Arthur stopped dead in his tracks, turning around to meet his challenger.

 

“What’s your name?” He asked, removing his sunglasses.

“Valiant,” the boy sneered. He had short hair, a hooked nose, and a decidedly nasty look on his face.

 

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Do you know who I am?”

 

“My father says you’re a prat,” repeated Valiant, a few other boys ganging up behind him.

 

“That’s not very nice to call somebody,” Arthur said pleasantly through gritted teeth.

 

“Prat?”

 

“Yes,” Arthur forced out. “Because it could make somebody...upset.”

 

Valiant was unrepentant. “You behave like a prat.”

 

“All right,” Arthur sighed. “Do you, er, know Mordred?” Valiant nodded. “The little wuss.”

 

“Well, he seems like a decent little boy, and I just wanted to tell you to..” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. “Lay off him a little.”

 

“Why, prat?” smirked Valiant.

 

Arthur stared down at the boy, crossing his arms. “Don’t call me that.”

 

“Prat.”

 

“That’s  not my name.”

 

“Prat,” Valiant said gloatingly. Arthur knelt in front him, looking him dead in the eye. 

 

“Call me ‘prat’ one more time,” he said menacingly, turning his head to listen. Valiant stood on his tiptoes to reach Arthur’s ear. “Pra-”

 

The rest of the insult was lost as Arthur catapulted Valiant into the sky. With a squeal, the boy disappeared into the clouds. The two boys behind him wisely turned and ran into their respective houses. Unaware of the recent chaos, Morgana emerged from the house.

 

“There you are, Arthur!” she exclaimed. “I knew you’d come! Ask Merlin, I had a feeling.” As she continued to chatter, Arthur eyed the sky as a faint shriek began to be heard. A black speck resolved itself into the still-screaming Valiant, plummeting through the air. Arthur caught him inches from the asphalt with a single hand, setting him on the ground. 

 

“There you go,” he said awkwardly. “You’re ok.” Valiant began sobbing, stumbling dazedly away.

 

“Oh, stop crying, you girl’s petticoat!” Arthur called after him, while Morgana gaped. 

 

“That’s not ok,” she admonished. “Alright? Really not ok.” Grabbing Arthur by the arm, she guided him into the house. “This is the kind of thing we need to work on. How do you think I’m going to explain this to his mother? And what about the street?” Arthur looked back, eyebrows raised.

 

“It was like that when I got here,” he offered lamely, glancing at the crater. 

 

Morgana raised a single eyebrow. “I live here, Arthur, I know what the street looks like.” They walked through the door, Morgana shutting it behind him.

 

“But we’re going to make that part of the past,” she said proudly. “I’m going to teach you to interface with the public.”

 

“Where’s your husband?” Arthur asked, looking over the family’s photographs as he wandered around the house.

 

“Merlin took Mordred to his soccer game,” replied Morgana. “Now, look, Arthur, I pulled some stuff up online-”

 

Arthur picked up a sketch of the Triskelion. “What’s this?” He asked, holding it up.

 

“Me trying to change the world,” Morgana shrugged. “Not doing too well though. But never mind that, let’s look at you.” She gestured for Arthur to sit beside her, opposite her laptop. Onscreen were a series of videos. As Arthur stood nearby, she pressed play, revealing Arthur landing next to an ice cream truck, clothes in tatters and covered in soot. Pushing past a line of children, he reached into the truck and grabbed a handful of ice cream sandwiches from the protesting vendor. Flipping the V’s at the camera, he took off again, leaving a handful of crying children in his wake. 

 

“Those are children,” Morgana emphasized, giving Arthur a scathing look. He merely shrugged.

 

“Have you ever saved somebody from a burning building?” He deadpanned. 

 

“I’m a PR worker, not a firefighter,” came the equally flat response.

 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I was hot.”

 

“Alright, how about this?” Morgana clicked another video, this time a helicopter feed of a whale stranded near the cliffs of Dover. “Everybody remembers Winston the whale.” The whale was surrounded by holidaygoers, throwing buckets of water over him in an effort to keep him alive. 

 

“Now along you come,” pointed out Morgana, as an explosion of sand revealed itself to be Arthur. Grabbing Winston’s tail, Arthur catapulted it back into the ocean, only for the whale to land on a sailing boat.

 

“I don’t even remember that,” Arthur frowned. “ I was probably drunk.”

 

“Winston remembers just fine.” Morgana stood up, turning to face Arthur. “The rest of them are the same. In my professional opinion, Arthur, you are a prat.” She poked him in the chest for emphasis.

 

Arthur gaped at her, for once at a complete loss for words.

 

“It’s not a crime,” Morgana continued, “but it’s certainly not useful either. But you are a prat, don’t you agree?”

 

Arthur grit his teeth. “Be careful.” He turned away, walking toward the kitchen.

 

“But this really is about how you present yourself,” insisted Morgana, swiping the bottle of brandy the Arthur had picked up with a withering look. “What do you see when you look at this?” She held up an illustration from a children’s book, depicting a king dressed in shining armor.

 

Arthur snorted. “Moron.”

 

“How about this?” Next was a comic book cover depicting Superman. 

 

“Moron in tights.”

 

Morgana sighed, lifting up a picture of Saint George slaying the dragon. 

 

“Definitely a moron,” deadpanned Arthur.

 

“That one I’ll give you,” Morgana sighed. “But that’s not the point. Let’s go deeper.” She leaned in closer to Arthur, looking up to meet his eyes. “I think that you behave like this because you’re lonely. You want people to accept you, but they just reject you.”

 

Arthur said nothing, but reached for the bottle once more. Morgana stopped him.

 

“You save people’s lives, and they’re not grateful, so you lash out.” As she wrestled with Arthur to get the bottle back, he lifted it up, leaving her feet dangling in the air. To her credit, Morgana did not panic.

 

“See, if we could just turn some of this into willpower-” she began, but the front door opened, and Arthur set her back on the ground. It was Merlin and Mordred, returned from their soccer game. 

 

“Hi Arthur! We almost won!” chirped Mordred, placing his ball on the table.

 

“Yes we did,” confirmed Merlin, glancing nervously at Arthur. “Now go upstairs and change, I’ll make you lunch.”

 

Mordred whined, “I’m not hungry,” but trudged upstairs anyway. After checking that Mordred made it up, Merlin kissed Morgana on the cheek.

 

“Have you watched the news?” He asked, eyes flitting between the two. 

 

“No, I’ve been working with Arthur on-”

 

“Interfacing with the public,” Arthur cut in, looking somewhat proud of remembering the term.

 

“Interfacing with the public,” repeated Morgana, smiling.

 

Merlin frowned. “This has been broadcasting all day.” He turned on the television, revealing a stern looking woman speaking to the camera. Below her, a banner proclaimed, “warrant issued for Arthur’s arrest”.

 

“You’re not above the law, Arthur,” she said with a scowl that put Merlin’s to shame. “Felonies, destruction of property in tens of millions of pounds, theft, and now this.” The camera showed the car impaled on the radio antenna, which Arthur had put there only the other day. “I see nothing but a self-absorbed man with high regard for himself and himself only. Let me remind you Arthur, you have failed to show up to subpoenas and civil suits, things that should put you in contempt, but no, not you.” Merlin’s expression was almost triumphant as began to unpack the groceries.

 

“You may be a superhero,” the woman continued to rant, while a second banner named her as Catrina Queen, “But let me tell you this. You’re not as strong as the entire house of Parliament!”

 

Morgana turned of the television, running a hand through her hair. “Brilliant,” she grinned. “This is exactly what we need!”

 

Merlin and Arthur simultaneously blinked, staring at the triumphant woman before them.

 

“Right now, there’s some poor sod trying to figure out how to put you in jail,” she continued, as if that made things obvious.

 

Arthur scoffed. “They can try.”

 

“No, no, Arthur,” Morgana replied. “You’re going.”

 

“ What ?”

 

She began pacing up and down the kitchen. “People take you for granted, so we have to make them miss you.”

 

Merlin stopped putting the groceries away, leaning onto the counter. His gaze was curiously intense.

 

“People don’t even  like you,” Morgana continued. 

 

“I do,” chimed in Mordred, trotting down the stairs.

 

Morgana stopped pacing. “If you’re just gone for two weeks, the public will be desperate for you. And when they are, we’ll be ready! Worst case scenario, you can just fly out.”

 

Arthur turned to face her. “What have you got to lose?” Morgana asked, sincerity plain in her voice.

 

The next day, Arthur stood before a sea of microphones and cameras, Morgana just behind him. Unlike the rest of the crowd, he was dressed plainly, in a relatively clean tshirt and jeans. He pulled cards out of his pocket and began reading from them.

 

“I apologise to the citizens of Camelot,” he began, looking to Morgana for support. She nodded encouragingly, smiling slightly. “My behaviour has been improper, and now I am accepting the consequences. I ask you all for your patience and understanding.”

 

The crowd began to boo. “Prat!” somebody cried, and the chant was taken up.

 

Arthur motioned for quiet. “I just want to say, life here is difficult for me sometimes. As far as I know, I’m the only person like this.” That caused the crowd to hush. At work, Merlin looked at the television, where Arthur was speaking. His eyes widens as he heard the genuine contrition in Arthur’s voice.

  
“During my time in prison, I will also be participating in alcohol and anger management programs.” Arthur looked directly at the camera. “You deserve better than this from me. I can be better. I  will  be better.” So saying, he placed the cards on the podium and walked away. To his surprise, most of his audience was clapping, as well as Morgana, who seemed genuinely pleased. Despite the swarm of cameras being shoved in his face, as Arthur walked towards the prison van, he didn’t feel annoyed. He felt - at peace.


	5. Day 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You shoved a man’s head up another man’s arse?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, exams have been kicking my ass three ways to Sunday. Bit of a short chapter this week, but hopefully it can tide you over!

Arthur stepped off the prison bus, clad in orange jumpsuit and handcuffs, and chained at the front of the prisoner line. Both he and the officer knew it was really a formality at this point, but the iron shackles on his wrist still felt heavy. As the prison officer told him to move on, Arthur inadvertently ended up dragging the rest of his fellow inmates with him. He trudged through his mugshot, for once not making any smart remarks when he noticed that the name board only said “Arthur”. It made him feel smaller somehow, like there should be more to it. The woman who took his fingerprints only raised an eyebrow at his presence before grabbing his hand and pressing it into the ink.

 

As Arthur walked into the main prison area, a crowd of inmates began to surround him, nearly all of them shooting very sour glances his way. In the middle of the circle stood a man a good six inches taller than Arthur, accompanied by a man with enough tattoos to make a Yakuza member cry. Arthur looked between them, eyebrows raised.

 

“Right,” he said, pressing a finger to his lips. “I put you in here, didn’t I?” The inmates nodded and made noises of agreement, many of them cracking their knuckles menacingly. Arthur half-shrugged in a “fair enough” gesture. “I can understand if that made you a bit upset.” This earned him a few quizzical glances. Arthur turned around, making eye contact with more of the inmates.

“So I’ll just be here,” he said awkwardly, “and you lot can do...whatever. I don’t want a fuss.” He started to walk away, only for his path to be blocked by Brick House and Inky. “I’ll just be going to my cell,” he said, pointing past the crowd. 

“That’s not happening, mate,” sniggered one of the prisoners. To his credit, Arthur didn’t react. “Excuse me,” he said, starting to push past, but the two ringleaders didn’t move. “Excuse me...please,” he tried again, earning a laugh from the inmates. Arthur sighed, clearly fed up with playing nicely.

“If you don’t move,” he said calmly, “your head is going up his arse.” He indicated Brick House, who sneered back down at him. The inmates laughed once more, not believing him. Their laugh was quickly cut short by two ripping noises, followed by an agonizing screech from Brick House. Arthur turned and left, inmates parting like the Red Sea around him as they groaned, crossed themselves, or were sick.

 

-M-

 

“You shoved a man’s head up another man’s arse,” Morgana deadpanned, glaring at Arthur through the glass. Even distorted by the telephone, Arthur could practically feel the icicles dripping off her voice. Feeling like a bug pinned under a microscope, he squirmed slightly before nodding. Morgana exhaled deeply before ruffling through a few papers.

“We’ll come back to that,” she said finally, a condemning eyebrow still raised. Something about the expression jolted Arthur’s memory slightly, but as soon as the thought came, it flitted away again. Morgana cleared her throat, forcing Arthur to pay attention to her.

“Right,” she said, “They want your sentence to run eight years. That’s quite a bit, but we expected that.” As she spoke, Arthur dragged a fingernail in a rough circle through the glass, neatly flicking out a hole so that he could talk to Morgana more directly. She made a few noises of protest, but raised her hand to the guard to indicate they should stay back.

 

“It sounded like you said they want me in here for eight years,” Arthur said, still holding the telephone to his mouth.

 

“It’s more like four and a half with good behaviour,” protested Morgana, also still clutching the telephone. "But that’s not important, because with you not around, the crime rates will skyrocket and the police are going to call for your release, and-” Arthur hung up the phone, pushing away from the desk and walking away from Morgana. 

 

“Where are you going? Hey!” She protested, but to no avail. Arthur simply ripped the prison door off its hinges, brushing aside the guard like he was a fly. Morgana stalked after him, placing herself between Arthur and the final door. “Stop right there, Arthur,” she pronounced, poking him in the chest.

 

“Move,” Arthur growled, but Morgana didn’t listen. Arthur pushed her aside too, headed straight for the door. “Coward!” she called after him, causing Arthur to stop in his tracks.

 

“Are you talking to me?” he asked incredulously, a threatening note to his voice as he stalked back towards Morgana. She stared him down, eyes meeting in a clash of wills.

 

“Stop pretending like you don’t care,” she said evenly. “You’ve got a calling, Arthur, you’re a hero. And you’ll be miserable until you accept that.” Arthur glared at her, but there wasn’t any conviction behind it. 

 

“Just trust me,” Morgana said, earnestness plain in her voice. “Trust this plan. Just -stay in here. When they call, we’ll show them a  real  hero.”

 

For once, Arthur didn’t have a snarky reply. “How are we going to do that?”


	6. Prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's stint in jail takes more effort than he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, it's been a while. I do apologize, I wanted to make sure this and the next chapter were really planned out.

Arthur sat in the exercise yard, watching the other inmates play football. He had been in prison for three weeks, and since the incident on his first day, everyone had given him a wide berth. The resulting quiet would have been welcome if he’d had a bottle of whiskey, but instead it had taken every ounce of his strength to prevent himself from breaking down the prison as he detoxed. Morgana had sat by his bed, a visitor’s pass clipped to her blazer as he lay sweating and haggard. Her low, soothing voice had kept Arthur calm during his bouts of deliriousness, reminding him of somebody else he’d cared about once. But when he tried to remember where he had heard the bubbling laughter before, it swirled away from him like effervescent smoke.

 

It had been rough, but he was more or less sober now. However, as Arthur sat in the back of the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings the prison held, he still refused to share.  _ It wasn’t like he had anything to share anyway _ , he reflected, standing up and stretching. 

 

The worn football bounced his way, and purely by reflex, Arthur kicked it back. It rocketed far into the sky, soaring over the fence. A collective groan went up amongst the inmates, several discontented looks tossed his way. Arthur looked amongst them, weighing the risks in his mind. He had promised to stay behind bars....

 

While the guards had their heads turned, Arthur leaped across the fence without as much as a running start. The prisoners’ mutters immediately turned to exclamations of shock, while the guards frantically radioed their superiors. A minute passed without any sign of the incarcerated hero. Then, the football shot over the fence and into the goal, followed a second later by Arthur. Without a word, he resumed his place on the yard bench as astounded guards and inmates stared. 

 

From there things only got more divisive.

 

“Now, don’t try to land on some rich snob’s Porsche, alright?” Morgana lectured, holding a series of notes she had made in front of the glass between her and Arthur. “People have to be happy you’ve arrived.”

 

Arthur merely shrugged. Morgana chewed her lip for a moment, but continued. “Right. So you’ve used the door, the building’s still intact. People are happy you’re here,” she read. “There’s a policeman there, and he’s done well, so you should tell him so.”

 

“If I had to come, he can’t have done that well,” Arthur argued. Morgana dragged a hand across her face, clearly frustrated.

 

“Bullets don’t exactly bounce off him. It takes courage to go out there when you know you could get hurt.”

 

Arthur made a face, but he knew Morgana had a point.

 

“Say it,” Morgana pressed. “Say, ‘good job’”. Arthur kept his mouth firmly shut. 

 

“Good…Gooooooooood jooooooooob,” she said, as if speaking to a small child. Arthur hung up the phone, indicating that the guard should take him away and leaving a fuming Morgana behind.

 

A few days later, Arthur found himself being summoned to the visiting room, where Merlin and Mordred were waiting. The boy was practically bouncing up and down with excitement, and when he saw Arthur, he launched himself in his direction.

 

“Hi, Arthur!” he cried, hugging one of the superhero’s legs. 

 

“Um. Yes. Hi, Mordred,” Arthur replied, prying Mordred off himself. “Where’s Morgana?” He asked as Merlin sat down at a nearby table, placing a tupperware container nearby. 

 

“She’s working,” he said, gaze flicking between his son and Arthur. “Mordred wanted to see you, so we thought we’d stop by with Curry Night.”

 

“Oh. Wow.” Arthur was genuinely taken aback by Merlin’s generosity. He glanced at the guard. “Do you, um, need to check this?” he asked, gesturing at the box, but the guard shook his head. Mordred sat across from him, eyes shining as Arthur opened the lid.

 

“Smells good,” Arthur offered lamely before tucking in. “Thanks.”

 

“Morgana’s got a good heart,” Merlin said quietly, looking Arthur dead in the eyes. “Whatever it is you’re doing, don’t let her down.” 

 

Arthur looked up, confused. “Okay?” he half-answered, mouth still full of tandoori chicken.

 

“Okay,” Merlin said with a nod. “Come on then, Mordred, we should probably go.”

 

“Already?” Mordred whined. “I want to stay with Arthur.”

 

“No, love, we have to go now. Go say goodbye,” Merlin instructed, but there was a fondness to his tone. 

 

Mordred shuffled over to Arthur, who was wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Goodbye, Arthur,” he whispered, stretching out a small fist. Arthur extended his hand, allowing Mordred to drop a small figure into it. 

 

“It’s my favorite,” Mordred said. “I want you to have it.” Arthur turned the figure over in his hands. It was a knight, his face set determinedly as he wielded a sword. The toy stirred something in him, something hidden long beneath the surface, but when he looked up, both Merlin and Mordred were gone.

 

Morgana sat down in front of the glass, clearly excited. She held up a sketchpad, grinning hugely. 

 

“What do you think?” she asked, shoulders drawn up in excitement.

 

Arthur stared at the drawing, open mouthed. “I’m not wearing that,” he said finally. “It’s got a  _ cape _ .”

 

“I know, I know,” Morgana replied, raising a hand in a placating gesture. “I just thought...it looked right somehow. Familiar.” A flash of red fabric across the blue sky came to Arthur’s mind, disappearing as quickly as the thought came. Shaking his head, he turned back to Morgana. 

 

“I’m still not wearing it. I’d rather go naked.”

 

“There’s footage of that,” Morgana pointed out. “But you’re wearing it. A uniform represents purpose,” she insisted. “A calling, if you will. This is your calling, Arthur. This is your destiny.” Arthur stared at her despondently.

 

“It’s been nearly a month. Nobody’s missing me.” 

 

“Just trust me,” Morgana urged. “I promise, good things are coming.” Discussion over, she pushed back the chair, sketchbook tucked under her arm. 

 

Later that night, Arthur lay in his bed, scratching at the walls. Half of his cell was already covered in crudely etched drawings, but this one was different. Care had been put into the two figures Arthur was working on, and although their faces could not be seen, it was evident that they were meant to be close. Friends or lovers, Arthur had no idea, but they seemed perfect together, two halves of a whole. He ran his fingers over one of the people he’d drawn, feeling a pang of sorrow for the loss he could not remember.

 

One of the guards knocked on his bars. “Arthur?” he called. “You’ve got a call.”

 

“Don’t bother,” Arthur said, pulling the blanket over his head.

  
“It’s the Chief of Police,” the guard replied, clearly nervous. “He says he needs your help.”


End file.
